


You've Got The Love

by sadhockeytrashbaby (allofthefandoms)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Childbirth, M/M, Mpreg, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/sadhockeytrashbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil doesn’t tell anyone that he spends most of the Stanley Cup Final puking.</p>
<p>It’s easy to blame the smudges under his eyes on his exhaustion and nerves, and the adrenalin keeps his feet moving and his hands sharp, even when all he can taste is bile.  But then the playoffs are over and he’s still puking and of all crazy things he’s starting to lose weight.  Despairing, his doctor has him pee in a cup.</p>
<p>The results come back only three days later.</p>
<p>Phil’s pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got The Love

**Author's Note:**

> I had to fill at least one mpreg prompt for the comment and this got a bit out of hand.
> 
> Also, this fic does deal with anxiety around miscarriage, and an off screen miscarriage of an oc is mentioned as a source of anxiety for the non pregnant partner.
> 
> (Also, look at me making no mention of the SC results like a good superstitious hockey fan...xD)

Phil doesn’t tell anyone that he spends most of the Stanley Cup Final puking.

It’s easy to blame the smudges under his eyes on his exhaustion and nerves, and the adrenalin keeps his feet moving and his hands sharp, even when all he can taste is bile. But then the playoffs are over and he’s still puking and of all crazy things he’s starting to lose weight. Despairing, his doctor has him pee in a cup.

The results come back only three days later.

Phil’s pregnant. 

. .

Carl is the only person who could be the father.

They had been dancing around each other since Carl arrived in Pittsburgh, and finally, lubricated with a little bit of alcohol after their first round victory against the Rangers, they had fallen into bed with each other. Phil only has hazy memories of the night, the press of lips, moans in both Swedish and English, the hot pool of pleasure in his stomach…and the surprise to wake to find Carl puttering around his kitchen, scratching Stella’s head as he cooked eggs.

When Phil finally works up the nerve to call Carl and tell him (‘you don’t have to be involved’ ‘fucking hell I don’t. I’ll book a flight right away‘), he feels at a bit of a loose end. He decided right from the beginning that he was keeping the child, and had already informed his agent and Penguins management, grateful that they had been so supportive.

(Not every team was. While it had been kept tightly under wraps, it had been a pregnancy scare that had gotten him traded out of Boston all those years ago. He was glad it was different now.)

When Carl arrives, he’s got two bags of books from Barnes and Noble and a wild look about him.

“I came right away,” he pants, eyes wide, and Phil can’t help but laugh.

“I can see that.”

. .

The summer is well under way, the last of the unexpected media attention from his announcement dwindling away. Phil is undeniably pregnant now, what could have been explained as off season paunch round and firm in a way that fat simply isn't. He’s learned that maternity bras for men exist as his chest softened, and that it’s important for him to eat an iron rich diet to counteract the tendency for male carriers to get anemia. 

(Carl has diagramed his summer diet plan down to individual meals with the aid of his obstetrician, and it would make Phil laugh if he couldn’t tell just how worried Carl was about the health of both Phil and the child. Tanger is not that considerate.)

“You do know this baby isn’t due until next spring,” he points out as Carl frets about what type of paint they’ll use for the nursery. “If we paint the room now, there will be no way paint fumes are going to hurt the baby when we finally bring them home.”

“But Phil, the first trimester is when the most important nervous system growth happens. Just because the baby isn’t born doesn’t mean fumes can’t still hurt it.” Carl is getting agitated again, throwing paint chips aside with a huff.

“Carl, healthy babies have been born for centuries,” Phil soothed. “You’re not going to fuck this up, okay? We’ve got the best care we can buy and friends and family who love and support us. Our little bean is going to be just fine.” Carl sags against Phil, who pulls him close.

“I just…I can’t have anything happen to either of you,” he whispers. Phil knows they are finally getting to the root of what’s been nagging at Carl, making him so insufferably anxious. “I just…a friend of mine back home…he and his wife just lost their baby…they did everything right, Phil I know they did. They wanted their kid so badly, but they lost it…I don't know how they are coping. I don’t think I could…and male pregnancy…it’s riskier, harder and I just…I want you to be okay…”

“I can’t promise it won’t happen,” Phil says honestly. “I wish I could, but I can’t. We just gotta do our best and not stress about every little thing.”

“Nothing has ever mattered this much to me,” Carl confesses, face pressed against Phil’s neck. “Not hockey, not the Cup, nothing…I never thought I could have this and now it’s here and happening and real and you gave it to me.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. 

. .

Phil compromises and agrees to let the team help paint the nursery as everyone’s gathering for training camp in august. He’s through his first trimester and the worst of the nausea, though he still can’t stand the smell of seafood or artificial vanilla, and he’s in a great mood for the baby shower slash nursery painting party.

They had settled on a soft palette of greens and purples, gender neutral but still colorful. Phil lets the wash of noise roll over him as he’s sitting with Vero and Carole-Lyne on the couch. Kids and dogs are running in and out, and Phil feels like he’s going to burst with the love and contentment.

“I hear Carl has been a grade a worrier,” Vero says with a smile.

“He’s not been that bad,” Phil protests and the two women share a look.

“I’m pretty sure that was a color coded daily meal plan on your fridge.”

“He just wants me and the baby to be healthy!”

“it’s very sweet,” Carole-Lyne soothes, rubbing Phil’s belly. “But give me a call if you ever need to escape. I can’t imagine what Pascal would have been like if I had been pregnant with our first born during the summer and he didn’t have to leave for games.” 

They chat for a while, the occasional thump or curse floating down from where the men are working upstairs. After a few hours, Carl pads down, grinning hugely and eyes a little damp.

“It’s all done,” he says. “Come look.” There is a streak of lavender paint in his hair, and a smudge of leaf green across his nose, but Phil hasn’t seen him this relaxed in months. It’s a good look.

All the core from the last season is gathered by the door. Sid, Geno, Flower, Muzz, Bonino, Tanger, even the rookies and coach Sullivan. The hallway wasn’t quite meant to fit 20 hockey players, but they make it work. Phil’s throat is tight even before he steps into the room.

Soft lavender and green twinkle from every wall and trimming, the dark wooden furniture already in place. The bookshelf is already half full, many of the books obviously well loved hand me downs. Phil spots a copy of The Hockey Sweater and the first tears fall. A mobile of arctic animal life, heavily featuring penguins, spins gently in the summer breeze that wafts the lacy curtains. There is a rocking chair and a stocked changing table, a chest already overflowing with toys, and everywhere he looks he sees his friends’ touches, from Sid’s carefully curated photos of Phil and Carl, with blank frames left for pictures of the new baby, to Geno’s collection of Russian folk tales and Flower’s fully customized Iceberg plushie. 

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Phil chokes out, tears running silently down his face. “It…it’s perfect.”

“You’re family and that kid is too,” Sully says with a tender smile. “The birth of your first kid…it’s an amazing moment, and we want to share that with you, even in a small way like this.”

“Not small at all,” Phil protests. “Not to me. Not…not everyone was so accepting of me when they found out, and I’m missing the whole season…”

“It’s a gift,” he insists, intent but soft. “I’m sorry anyone ever made you think differently.” Phil gives him a tight hug, overwhelmed.

“So, satisfied that we aren’t going to poison the bean?” Phil says to Carl, who blushes as the others laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Carl huffs. “See if I ever care about your wellbeing again.”

. .

Phil feels the first real contractions at 8:42 pm on February 13th. Carl is away in Arizona , and it’s the first time since first finding out about his pregnancy that he’s scared.

“Vero, I think it’s time,” he pants into the phone, shaking. He can still feel the wetness in his lap from his water breaking and his breath comes in little panting gasps.

“Stay on the phone with me,” She says. “I’ll have Flower drive, you just stay on the phone and talk to me.” Both of them come right in. Phil still hasn’t managed to move. Vero strips him efficiently of his messy clothes, sending Flower to grab clean sweatpants as she helps him to stand. Another contraction has him doubling over in her arms.

“How long have you been having contractions?” She asks. Phil shrugs.

“Thought they were just cramps. Been having a hell of a time with Braxton Hicks and it wasn’t until about 10 minutes ago that my water broke that I realized it was time. Flower tosses her clean clothes, and soon Phil is dressed and in the car, hospital to go bag in Vero’s lap as he pants. 

Things move quickly after that. Phil’s examined and placed into a private room in the maternity ward as Vero holds his hand and Flower makes phone calls with his one good hand.

“Carl is on his way,” Flower promises, and all they can do is wait. His contractions seem to stall and he spends hours in a dazed state of half wakefulness, the pain every 5 minutes keeping him from really sleeping even as it eases into early morning.

At about 5 am, everything seems to kick into overdrive. Something shifts and three contractions seem to come all at once as he screams and clutches Vero’s hand. He struggles to his feet, fighting the urge to push until a doctor examines him. When he gets the okay, he refuses to get onto the bed, hanging from Vero arms as he pants and cries. It’s only a few minutes later that Carl rushes into the room.

“I’m here Phil I’m here.” Phil sobs as he’s transferred into his boyfriend's arms. Carl still smells like stake airplane air and dried sweat, but somehow it’s the most beautiful smell he’s ever smelled in his life. Carl just offers quiet encouragement as Phil howls and cries. Surely something was wrong. It had been hours and it hurt so much…

“You’re doing so well, Phil,” Carl murmurs as a contraction eases, rubbing at the tenseness between Phil’s hips. “So strong for our kid. I could never do this.” 

The sun rises in a flare of pain. A doctor is right behind him when Carl gives a sharp gasp.

“I can see our baby, Phil. They’re almost here. You’re doing so well.” A hand takes his, drawing it between his legs to press his fingers against a soft wetness between his legs. He can even feel the soft downy hair, as slick with blood and fluids as it is.

“Almost here, Phil, it’s almost over.”

. .

Valentina Kessel is born at 10:32 am, 19 hours after Phil was admitted to the hospital. She’s nearly 10 pounds, perfect and squalling. She already has a head of lush dirty blonde curls, and once she’s dry and warm, they fluff up in a perfect little halo. Flower’s first comment when laying eyes on her is that he’s thankful that she takes after the pretty one.

He sends a picture out to the team, and then another to Jen in PR for an official announcement. He and the baby are both given a clean bill of health and sent home the next evening. Phil is still exhausted, but both Phil and Carl have family in town to help with the transition. But when he puts his daughter down into her crib for the first time, in the nursery lovingly crafted by the team who loves him, he can’t help but sit down in the rocking chair and cry. She’s here and she’s beautiful and he just can’t believe it.

“You were so calm during the birth,” Phil says to Carl after dinner, Valentina in a sling on his chest. “After the pregnancy I thought you were going to be a mess. 

“Ah well,” Carl says with a bashful shrug. “I figured you could handle it.”


End file.
